


Lucinda meets a Centaur

by LadyBinx



Series: Lucinda Baker [19]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Centaurs, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-23
Updated: 2020-01-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 12:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,777
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22377454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyBinx/pseuds/LadyBinx
Summary: A trip back to Lucinda's childhood at Hogwarts
Series: Lucinda Baker [19]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/603934





	Lucinda meets a Centaur

On a cold winter’s night with thick snow falling amongst the stark trees, I was homeless.

It was my first year at Hogwarts. Like all the muggle-born first-years, I was more terrified than excited, but that excitement bubbled up massively as I started to experience the first few days of the wizarding world. Finding my first wand in Diagon Alley – not that I held on to it for very long – buying my first cauldron, getting all my ancient-looking, heavy, leather-bound books full of strange, arcane knowledge. But then I read a bit about the history of my new people, and discovered things about the wars, the killings, the nameless Dark Lord. What muggles were, and what muggle-borns could expect from the pure-blood fanatics.

My first day at Hogwarts confirmed all my fears. I was shaking in my tiny little socks when I approached the sorting hat, alone, having made no friends on the train-ride. And then that fatal word: Slytherin. I wasn’t put in that house because I was evil, or because I was pure-blood, or because I believed that dark, forbidden magic could give me power. I was put there because I was a traditional Slytherin type – creative, subtle, nuanced, discreet. Of course, in that time, there were plenty of people being put into Slytherin that were mindless, pure-blood thugs. I was… unwelcome. My first night in that school was awful. So was my second. I soon learnt to keep my head down, stay quiet and never talk to anyone. The only thing that kept me going was a fascination with this strange new world, populated with bizarre creatures and alien cultures.

So I started making friends with the creatures as best I could. I spoke to a few of the wizards and witches in other houses. I cornered a few of the house elves and made contact. In time, through these desperate interactions, I would even make friends. But during my first year, it was intolerable. I would see the Gryffindors laughing and jostling, with one black-haired, shaggy-looking boy a year older than me standing out in particular. I would see the Ravenclaws comparing notes, apart from one bored-looking boy with a light-brown bowl-haircut who would later become one of my closest friends. I would listen to the prattling Hufflepuff, and even a few of them became my friends as the years wore on. But then I would see the Slytherin kids, already narrowing their eyes at me with hatred and suspicion. Normally I would be chased to my next class. At the end of the day they would hunt me as I hid somewhere in the school. I would wait until I could slink into my room late at night and put up with the barbed remarks and cruel pranks of the people who shared my dormitory, slowly falling into a terrible, nightmare-ridden sleep.

There were several nights when I was too late to get into the Slytherin common-room, and had to lurk around the school overnight avoiding the caretaker and patrolling teachers and wandering ghosts. Peeves the poltergeist was never, ever my friend. Many times he drew attention to me, leading to punishment. But a few other ghosts were aware of my predicament, and sympathised. Some nights they helped me sleep in old, abandoned classrooms or the warm, musty owl-roost. But then there were other nights that the girls in my dorm room noticed I was missing, and snuck out of the secret entrance with a few of the boys to continue their oh-so-fun hunt.

One night sticks in my mind. As I said, it was a cold winter’s night. I had been at Hogwarts for several months, and it was coming up to the winter holidays. Snow lay thick over the entire school, blanketing every noise but leaving a record of every footfall, every stumble, every change in direction or intention. They chased me across the Quidditch pitch, firing curses at me while I shouted for help. In the end, I was driven into the Forbidden Forest. The Slytherin bastards, their wolfish, bloodthirsty grins fading in the shadow of the tall trees, didn’t follow me. But they lurked at the edge of permission, waiting for me to come out. I waited for them, too – to get bored, or tired, or otherwise let me return to my warm, comfortable bed. It was a stalemate, and as time went past they peered into the dark trees and got bolder. I retreated back into the woods. It took no time at all for me to get horribly lost.

I’d heard terrible things about the Forbidden Forest. Everyone had. It had been drummed into our heads thoroughly by Dumbledore during his speech, when he had seemed so far away and ethereal. But now his warnings came back to my mind. As I crunched over dry pine-needles and thankfully shallow patches of snow, I remembered how stern he had looked. As I knocked snow from silent branches that came crashing down around me, frighteningly loud, I remembered hearing the howls of wolves, especially around the full moon. The girls in my room had teased me about monstrous spiders, man-eating goblins, wild centaurs, giant invisible rats, huge basilisks and jellyfish that floated through the treetops like clouds until their poisonous stingers wrapped around your throat and face. I had thought they were just ridiculous lies, at the time. But stumbling between the giant, mossy roots and cold, hard ground, I was prepared to believe anything.

I remember panicking when I looked up and saw the full moon. I should have realised, since the spindly branches were supporting a lot of snow, reflecting the moonlight down onto the frosty forest floor. I might have imagined it, but I thought I heard a wolf howling, or a werewolf. I stumbled away from the direction I imagined it came from, entirely lost now. I had given up on finding my way out. Part of my mind was processing what would happen if I died – would the wizards wipe the minds of my parents? Would the Ministry take responsibility for the diplomatic repercussions for losing a muggle-born? Would there even be any repercussions? Would the motherfuckers that chased me here pay any penalty? Would they even feel any damn guilt?

The rest of my mind was focusing now on pure survival. I was thinking of warmth, shelter and defence. It occurred to me that hiding would be the best defence – at 13 years old, I didn’t have the training to hold off a forest full of vampires and werewolves. Warmth would come from a fire, which would give me away. So I came to shelter, which would mean both the security of hiding and the warmth of insulation. I pulled snow, leaves and dirt around me and settled into a nook formed by the roots of trees. With my wand in my hand, I faced out into the darkness and twilight snow. And then I tried to sleep. Of course, it didn’t come, and I spent hours staring out into that monochrome gap between the black, bark tendrils of the forest.

Luckily, there was very little insect life crawling around at that time of year. One beetle crawled over my hand, but I was too tired and cold to do anything about it, despite how it made my skin shiver. At one point, I was aware of a snuffling sound. It snapped me out of my half-sleep, triggering adrenaline in my brain that drove away the fog of idle nightmares. I listened to it sniffing and nuzzling at one of the trees I hid beneath. It crunched through the snow, and I was sure it was sniffing me out. But then it stopped. I heard it move suddenly, as if crouching. And then it was fleeing, its quick unseen footsteps vanishing amongst the trunks. Then came something else with many, many more legs. It skittered across the forest floor, and I heard something chittering and crunching at thin air. I was frozen with fear, sweat breaking out across every inch of my skin.

It hurried across in front of my tree, and I saw something black and furry pass in front of my opening, highlighted by the moonlight. I had to stop myself from letting out a feeble squeak of fear.

The snuffling, sniffing thing had run from it, and the many-legged thing was running from something else in turn. I pushed myself back into the crumbling nook of decrepit bark and closed my eyes tightly, fearing what was coming next but honestly expecting death. Already I could hear the noise of hoof beats in the snow. It seemed to run right up to the trees I was sheltering under, and then pause. I tried to hold my breath until it was gone, but it wasn’t leaving. It slowly strode up to me, its hooves crunching in the snow.

“Come out, child,” it said. It had a deep, dignified voice with a strange accent.

I wasn’t a bloody idiot, though. I braced myself firmly into my woody hole and held on tightly, trying to remember any defensive spells that I’d learned.

“I won’t hurt you,” the voice said again, and I opened my eyes. I was looking up into the bright blue eyes of a human face. Well, human-like. There was facial hair between the eyebrows, around the chin, and across the cheeks. The cheekbones were more pointed than usual, and the nose was noticeably flattened, with wide, flaring nostrils that blew out hot steam as it – he – breathed. He looked satisfied that I had opened my eyes, and stood up. When he straightened up, he was much taller than the average human, especially when viewed from my lowered shelter. And I noticed that the moonlight picked out the fuzzy, felt-like hair of his lower torso and legs. His knees were also backwards, and when I peered between his legs I saw another pair of legs, and a large equine penis.

That was when I let out a squeak of fear – not a scream, because I was too tired and cold, like I said. A scream might have actually had more dignity to it. But instead, I squeaked.

“Don’t be afraid, child,” the centaur said, “My name is Vodonze. What are you doing out here?”

“I’m lost,” I said quietly, surprised by how shivery my voice was.

“Quite clearly,” he said, his voice sending out thick clouds of steamy breath.

“Do you know how I can get home?” I asked from within my hiding place.

“I can take you to the edge of the forest, yes,” he said.

“Th-thank you,” I remember muttering.

“What is your name, youngling?”

“Lucinda, sir. Lucinda Baker.”

“A witch calling a centaur by ‘sir’. That is unusual. Lucinda Baker, do you know the history of our peoples?”

“I’ve read a book about it, sir,” I said, feeling foolish as I climbed out of the orifice formed by the twisted roots and crumbling bark. I stood shivering beneath the centaur, looking up at his mighty, hairy face.

“Do you put much trust in the books written by your Ministry? And your scholars? And your villains?”

“I don’t know where else to learn stuff. I try to pay attention in lessons, but the others make it so hard,” I said unhappily, trying not to pour out my misery to this gigantic, majestic creature.

“It has always been the way of my people to seek out knowledge directly from the source; from the stars, from the earth, from the trees.”

“What do the stars tell you?”

“All of the witches and wizards I have ever met have scoffed at the ways of my people.”

“I’m… new here,” I explained. He chuckled at this, and I noticed that there were two quivers of arrows hanging from the sides of his haunches, flat against his body. There was a bow strapped to the top of his horse-body, within reach of his human arms.

“And nobody thought to warn you of the dangers of the forest?”

“Dumbledore warned us all. But then the other kids, they chased me in here.”

“I see. You are small and vulnerable. So your savage race preys upon you?”

“Basically, yeah,” I said, meekly.

“Humans will always confuse me,” he confessed, and motioned for me to follow him. He began trotting through the forest, and I had to hurry to keep up, my skinny legs pumping away painfully beneath me.

“It’s only a few of them,” I said, aware that I was disrespecting my species.

“You are vulnerable because you let yourself be so,” he said, his low, sonorous voice echoing through the trees.

“If I could grow up faster, I would,” I said, impatiently. He chuckled at this.

“Do not wish your youth away, child.”

“It’s my youth that makes me vulnerable,” I said.

“There is some truth to what you say. But it is also your naivety. Your inexperience. Your lack of knowledge. Do you think size makes someone powerful? Is physical strength the only kind that exists, in your culture?”

“Well, no. I guess not. We’re powered by our knowledge, I suppose.”

“Indeed,” he agreed, “Your knowledge is what makes you strong. Not just your knowledge of magic, either. Your knowledge of the landscape, of the enemy, of the world around you. Do you understand me?”

“I think so. You think I need to study harder.”

“No. I think you need to study better. Do you understand the difference?”

“Um, no,” I said, and I stumbled over a root concealed beneath a thick bank of snow.

“Here, child,” he said, lifting me up with his big, strong, gentle, hairy hands, “Ride on my back.”

“The books said that centaurs don’t let people ride on their backs,” I said in a slightly strangled tone, as he lifted me onto his shoulders.

“As well they might. It’s uncomfortable, for one, to be ridden like a common horse. It’s much better to have you on my shoulders. It also reminds us of a darker time, when our race was treated as beasts of burden.”

“What? The books never said…”

“I told you before, Lucinda Baker. Sometimes you have to discover knowledge from the source, rather than relying on second-hand, written-down information. It grows stale that way, I’ve always felt. There’s more to life than the… ‘exams’ you people do, and the big piles of books. Are you comfortable?”

“I’m very high up,” I said nervously, pushing aside branches laden with snow as Vodonze strode confidently through the woods.

“I suppose your people would be unimpressed at this honour,” he said, and I felt his deep voice vibrating up through his body.

“I’ll always remember it,” I said, “I’m very grateful. Do you think I’d have died out here?”

“You displayed a decent level of intelligence, for one so small. Some have stumbled around, squawking and panicking. You knew to endure the night, to weather the moon, until dawn. You are unique in many ways, Lucinda Baker. This is another reason you will be a target for the mean-spirited and jealous of your race.”

“Great,” I muttered sarcastically.

“It may also serve as a source of strength. A unique person has unique insight.”

“Insight doesn’t sound very powerful. But,” I added hurriedly, “I am young, after all. I might be wrong, eh?”

“Indeed,” he chuckled warmly.

“Have I mentioned that I’m very grateful?”

“I shall remember you, Lucinda Baker. We are here, now.”

“Already?”

“You didn’t know the simplicity of the path. This is why you were lost. You are a unique human, and I shall remember you. In turn, you must remember the things I have told you.”

“I will,” I said, certain that I would never, ever forget the experience of the night, no matter how hunted, bullied or abused I felt by my classmates.

He lifted me gently from his shoulders and set me down in the snow at the very edge of the forest. I could see the warm, lighted windows of the castle between the scant few remaining trees. Without knowing what else to do, I bowed to him. He bowed back, gratification in his proud eyes. Then I turned and ran back to the castle, wary of being caught out of bed by a teacher.

I was, sure enough. I got detention, while the students who had chased me into the woods went unpunished – not that I informed on them, obviously. But whether I knew it or not, the memory of the conversation with Vodonze the centaur would stay with me for many, many years. And his lesson, though brief, was very profound.


End file.
